Behind Every Good Man…

Almost twenty years ago in these pages, I eulogized my father. He was a great man, loved by many, and feared by many others (primarily, his children and the boys who dared date his daughter).

When we lose such great people, a good number of great people are left behind to carry on. These people do not get the credit for their on-going efforts until their untimely passing, which is sad. My father died of cancer at the ripe old age of 59, only eight months after he retired from 37 years of service to the Pennsylvania State Police and 29 years of marriage to my mother.

This story starts with my mother. Well, my mother and all of the women left behind by the passing of a “good man.”

My mother (along with my father) raised two kids and helped raise dozens others. Following the death of my father, Mom put our house up for sale and, two years later when it actually sold, she moved to be closer to her family. Her family included her 91-year-old mother who had lost her husband a decade earlier.

These two widows starting me thinking about all of the widows that I know, and all of the children who miss their fathers.

Of my Bedford friends alone, we have lost Dr. Charles Griffiths, Donald Anderson, Rodrick Himmler, David Koury, Blaine Barron, and Martin McGowan. All of them left behind a great woman or five. Sure, there were guys left behind, but as “men” we’re not really allowed to grieve or even really notice the passing of loved ones. So it’s the women who are left to pick up the pieces, take care of everyone, and move on with their lives.

Each of these men played a prominent role in my life and yet I don’t think I ever really took stock of what I lost. I played the male role of making sure that the people directly related to the lost loved one had their needs filled and that the family knew that they could count on me if they needed anything further.

As “men,” we assume that everyone near and dear to us knows how important they are. We don’t tell them that we love them or that we appreciate what they’ve done for us, and then they’re gone. All that’s left for us to do after that is to hug the remaining family, ask “is there anything I can do for you,” make an appearance at the funeral, and return to life as normal.

But no more. The recent passing of James Petrarca was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Karen Petrarca, her four children, their spouses, their children, and anyone else who knew Jim are on notice that his passing is a loss to all of us.

Jim and Karen made me feel like family. He provided a truck for me to move to college. He bought a car from me during my brief and unsuccessful attempt as a car salesman. He proudly showed off his post-retirement project cars when I’d come to visit. He and Karen even graciously provided my wife and me with a place to stay last year even though Jim was sick. They’ve been more than friends…they’ve been extended family.

Why should you care to read about the loss of this one man? Because you should take up the same cause as I have. You should make sure that everyone in your life…family, friends, anyone of significance to you…knows just how you feel. Little things like a heartfelt hug the next time you see them. Let your loved ones actually know that you love them…in so many words. You’ll never know when that will be the last time you speak.

I can still recall the September evening when I walked out of Bedford County Memorial Hospital in 1992 when the last words spoken from my father were “I love you.” And I know I never properly said goodbye to any of the other men mentioned here. That ends now. Join me in letting the “good men” and “great women” in our lives understand what they mean to us! When they’re gone, you’ll wish you had.